


The Devil's Triangle

by SamValentine



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Blood, Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, blood tw, no fix-it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 19:55:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11066019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SamValentine/pseuds/SamValentine
Summary: Armando Salazar made eye-contact with the infuriating, young pirate on the Wicked Wench as he sailed his own ship straight into hell on earth.- - -The captain and his lieutenant drown.





	The Devil's Triangle

Armando Salazar made eye-contact with the infuriating, young pirate on the _Wicked Wench_ as he sailed his own ship straight into hell on earth.

‘Capitán!’ shouted Lesaro, loyally at his captain’s side. ‘Orders, sir!’

But Salazar could only stare as the _Silent Mary_ ran towards her and her crew’s doom.

The Sparrow boy cast one last glance over his shoulder before the _Mary_ entered the Devil’s Triangle, and darkness.

Rocks and reefs tore open the hull of the proud vessel as lava bubbled up from the ocean floor. One of the yards of the main mast caught on an overhanging piece of rock and for a moment the whole ship stopped moving—until the mast gave away with the sound of a thousand bones breaking and the _Mary_ lurched forwards again. The mast fell to starboard, almost comically slowly, and it pulled half a dozen of Salazar’s sailors down with it.

Salazar heard Lesaro cry out his name, the one voice standing out over the chorus of howls as flames ate away at the men who weren’t drowning. As he turned to look at his lieutenant, the boom of the remaining mast swung to port, hit Salazar, and flung him overboard, into the boiling, broiling dark sea below him.

* * *

‘Man overboard!’ shouts Lesaro as he runs, limps, towards the portside railing. The only man that follows him, that is able to follow him, is Santos. But where Santos stays at the railing, Lesaro doesn’t hesitate and dives down, following his captain.

* * *

He’s sinking, the weight of his weapons and his decorated coat pulling him down.

The water is boiling, it scalds him, the heat is stifling, and when he opens his mouth to scream the water burns his insides.

Something grabs his collar, and for a moment the downward pull is countered. A strong arm is wrapped around his chest, pulling futilely _up_ , but the ocean is calling—she is intent on claiming her prize and is loath to let it go.

The captain and his lieutenant drown.

* * *

The sea took what she wanted, then chewed them up and spit them back out, to the surface of the waters of the accursed Devil’s Triangle. She claimed them, marked them thoroughly. They will never leave her, and never feel her embrace again.

Eventually, with a soft sigh, the sea withdraws. Salazar and Lesaro drift back up towards a different kind of darkness, and lie on the water’s surface.

Santos and Magda climb down the ribs of the _Mary_ ’s hull, three arms and one-and-a-half thoracic cavity between them, and haul their captain and lieutenant back up.

After how many nights and days no one knows have passed Salazar wakes up to death with one name dripping from his lips in his life’s blood: _Jack Sparrow_.

* * *

All the looking glasses on board the _Mary_ had shattered in the heat and the water is too dark to see his reflection in, he discovered.

Salazar sits on the skeleton of his chair in the wreck of his cabin and runs the tips of his fingers over his cheek, shot through with cracks. He touches the left side of his skull and it seems like it will cave in any moment, now. He doesn’t feel anything. Only a desire for revenge that burns as hotly within him as the sea that killed him.

His hair floats around his head as if he were still swimming—still drowning.

There’s a knock on the bits of wood that used to be the doors. Salazar doesn’t look up. He knows who it is.

‘Capitán,’ Lesaro says quietly, through the enormous holes in the wood. ‘The men have been trying to bring the mast upright again. No luck, however—’

‘Luck has nothing to do with it,’ Salazar snaps. ‘Nor fate, nor destiny. We were tricked.’ He stares ahead with dead black eyes. ‘Tricked by a boy.’

‘Armando,’ says Lesaro.

Salazar slowly lifts his head and looks. His hair lazily coils around his face. Lesaro has his hat between his hands. His eyepatch used to starkly contrast with his skin. Now it’s only a few shades darker.

‘Can I come in?’

Salazar staggers up and sideways and pulls aside the tatters of the once magnificent double doors.

Lesaro drops his hat and steps across the threshold into Salazar’s arms.

Their embrace is cold as the dead but familiar to the both of them—their familiarity being all they have left, and for a moment, one quiet moment, they clutch at each other like a castaway to flotsam.

Lesaro leans back, Salazar’s arms still around his waist, and reaches up to touch the captain’s face. Salazar recoils at first, not from Lesaro’s touch, but from himself. But Lesaro’s fingers are careful, and slowly, with closed eyes, Salazar lays his cheek against the man’s palm.

Lesaro’s thumb brushes against his chin, and he can’t stop the blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, but Lesaro doesn’t pull away. The emotion on his face is difficult to read, even for Salazar.

‘Diego,’ mutters Salazar, but his voice catches in his throat.

‘You look like a cracked marble statue,’ Lesaro whispers back. Damaged, but still magnificently beautiful.

Salazar huffs out dead air in something like a sob, then presses the cheek that hasn’t starting completely crumbling against Lesaro’s.

In response, Lesaro briefly presses his lips against Salazar’s throat before they move apart.

‘What now, Capitán?’ the lieutenant asks as he bends to pick up his hat, which he places firmly on his head as if to keep his skull together.

‘Now? Now we hunt the sparrow.’

* * *

Then they realise that while they can sail the _Mary_ still, even in her skeletal form, they cannot get out of the Devil’s Triangle.

The only thing that keeps the crew together as they bodily decay further is the strict order that Capitán Salazar enforces on his ship, whether it be in life or in death. This, and his ruthlessness; for their only diversion is any ship sailing into the Triangle, and only then does Salazar loosen the leash and lets his crew run rampant.

After they slaughter everyone on the first few ships to quench their unquenchable thirst for blood, they start leaving one sailor alive. To tell the tale.

With each ship they sink that is not the _Wicked Wench_ , Lesaro sees his captain slide down deeper into his fanaticism. With each day, week, year that passes and every smoking shipwreck, Lesaro loses a part of the man he loves.

So he vows his own personal revenge on Jack Sparrow. Until then, he serves his captain. In death, as in life.

 

 

 


End file.
